nymph and satyr
by appleschan
Summary: he gets a nymphomaniac for a patient.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: sexuality

Warning: M. OOC.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>Today, his coffee is black. There's chili in his breakfast. And he caught Grimmjow screwing a girl in the medical stock room. No big deal. Seriously. Except that she's <em>his<em> girlfriend. And that he's officially single for four lengthy hours.

Today, the birds are singing, the leaves are swaying, and the sun is smiling. Motherfucking literally.

Today, he gets a nymphomaniac for a patient.

"So, it says here, you think people hate you."

"That is correct."

He could talk better, he knows so. He could ask questions better instead of repeating words in her chart like some clueless intern -she probably thinks he's an intern.

Talking to her would be better, _hell lot better_, if her piercing and inquisitive violet eyes aren't sending bolus after bolus after bolus of blood directly to his cock because fuck, she's a turn on.

That, and if the contour of her legs does not function like a target for the male eyes.

Or if she isn't wearing a tight blouse that pops out her smooth cleavage.

Or if her voice doesn't sound stimulating like running a feather in his spine, or has a tingling effect similar to a woman sucking on his chest and neck.

Or if she doesn't have shapely hips that hint that yes, she's extremely _doable_. And pliant.

Or if only she's completely unaware that he's lusting.

He thinks she knows, _oh wrong_, he knows that she knows. The glint in her eyes tells him that this short woman is hard and a bitch, that she made men feel like either the luckiest bastards or the unluckiest.

With one hour to go before his shift ends, he formally starts their session inside this great big gray room.

"Okay, Miss...uh...Kuchiki, is it? How are you?"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

super, super mini, mini side project during weekdays.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: sexuality -lol I actually don't know.

Warning: M. OOC.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm not the first, but I don't really care<em>."

It's a voice, incessant, ridiculing, careless, it tells her every time, reminds her every time, reduces her every time.

But she continues to do it anyway, being _this_ kind of woman.

It's maladaptive, flawed, brutal, but she has no other direction. It gives her a sense of normality, control, order over her existence. Shameful.

"_That is correct_."

She thinks he's lusting.

She thinks she's right.

Now, in front of him -the therapist- she continues to do what she always does, sit silently and hint lewd things. And it works every time; enticing men wordlessly, effortlessly, flawlessly.

Every man she has been with thinks the same, and she thinks, even the fiery-head therapist thinks, "_I'm not the first, but I don't really care_."

But that's fine because it benefits her, eases her, helps her.

Then she says goodbye to them the next day, unfeeling, uncaring, unwavering.

And yes, she pursues sexual encounter today, with him -the therapist.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: sexuality -lol i actually don't know.

Warning: M. OOC.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>+8 hours.<p>

It isn't. _He isn't_. The heated palm clutching her neck –forcing her on her place against the glass wall- isn't gentle and definitely not the covetous bites along the line of her neck, and even the tongue that slides against her skin, hurried yet teasing, making her arch against the glass wall.

Her hand touches the planes of his bare chest, pushing him off her, off the glass -to the bed. But he won't move.

Some people seek the freedom to be chaotic. And she only seeks relief.

He isn't gentle.

She has her rules. But he isn't following them.

She told him she wanted to be on the bed, but he pushed her hard against the glass wall. She said she doesn't want bite marks, but her spine and legs became, not long after, filled with marks. She said she doesn't like being touched on the wrists, but he restrained her and clutched her wrist in deathly grasp on the way to his place.

He's challenging her control.

Because of the things he learned. He's quite insufferable, she begins to think.

The therapist's mouth is just as prodding as his earlier questions. As if he knows and feels things she still hides, or things she makes up to get to him, and tries to coax her into honesty.

She slipped -_almost._ Things, things about her sexually-charged boss, her neighbor who waits for her, and her clashes with a male family member. Tight-lipped things.

He catches her face and holds it firmly between his palms. He's bare above waist, his heart beats fast and loud, and the sound resonates clearly, she hates it.

She eyes him warningly, _I don't want a kiss_.

_Try me_, he smirks. So haughty, so brazenly.

_I am not attracted to you_, she lets him kiss her.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

my bad, i didn't say it's non linear, 300 words, and that i give the uneven dots before the connecting lines.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: sexuality -lol i actually don't know.

Warning: M. OOC.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>-8 hours<p>

"How are you?"

"I was hoping you can tell me, Mr. therapist."

He thinks she's made up of layer and layer of lies.

This consultation room is an adjacent of his office, Ms. Kuchiki sits in the large sofa chair opposite him, a small coffee table between them.

"My brother died, he left me everything. I miss him." She says indolently

Ichigo snorts and stands from his swivel chair, and takes off his standard-issue white coat and glasses.

He unbuttons the first two of his buttoned-up shirt as he walks slowly towards her.

Rukia, meanwhile, watches him passively.

The therapist reaches her, pulls the small table and sits on it -in front of her- and clutches the arms of her chair, pulls her closer.

"Yeah, let's cut the bullshit right here." He hisses. Rukia thinks, almost seductively.

"I don't think your brother is dead."

She says nothing.

Expecting no answer from her, he continues, "My dissociative patient thinks he lives in the United States of Britain, I let him, I even asked for a one way ticket -and hey, I fucking got one. One psycho-manic patient started a kiddy fight club, sure, I cheered. And they regularly give me a supply of homemade candies. Another is a recovering crackhead who goes to Sunday service but that's fucking bullshit because he really just visits his unicorn friends over the cotton candy rainbow. See?"

"Being fucked up is normal here. You go to someone because you're mentally fucked-up. And damn, that's how we earn money."

Wrong. Everything about this therapist is wrong, she ponders.

"No, we don't pretend with shit here."

His face is too close, Rukia shifts uncomfortably.

"So, let me ask again, _how are you_?" Tell me your story. Real.

However, she meets his eyes, challenging him.

"_I was hoping you can tell me, Mr. therapist_."

Ichigo simply sighs, then looks down at her smooth legs. He sighs again, then looks at her.

"Right, let me tell you your plans; you go here, ask for a shrink, seduce the shrink, fuck the shrink, then walk out."

Ms. Kuchiki remains silent.

"I guess everything is working according to plan, so I'll say yes, you are feeling pretty fucking fine."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: sexuality -lol i actually don't know.

Warning: M. OOC.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>"Listen to me," He says, his hands travel from the armchair to her shoulder -she doesn't flinch upon contact- then to the back of her neck, forcing her to look straight to his eyes.<p>

The therapist, to her, is a composite of several, disorganized stimulus. Things she can't specifically point yet, but there is something in his stance, the angular lines of his face, and the guttural undertones of his voice.

"None of my patients left this place with their screws still fucking loose. Those three motherfuckers live normal lives now -at least, in a way. It took me time and immersion. But they were honest, and I understood their habits."

Then he smiles, "You won't tell me anything." He lightly brushes his thumb over her lips.

He thinks she's a deep well of lies and secrets, that it needs deep, deep, deep exploration to get to her core. And that he can't accomplish it with the usual ways.

"Limit all your sexual partners to _just me_."

Ms. Kuchiki blinks, but says nothing. However, he sees the visible pursing of her lips and a flicker of something on her eyes.

She thinks she likes his boldness.

"Limit all your sexual partners to me and then we can sort out all your fucking problems."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: sexuality -lol i actually don't know.

Warning: M. OOC.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>+ 8 hours<p>

Ms. Kuchiki's hands hurriedly slide down Ichigo's sculpted chest and abdomen down to his narrow hips to reach for his belt, sparing no time to feel his heated skin or his contracting muscles.

But he restrains her, grabs both of her wrists with one hand and puts them above her head.

He pins her, pressing himself hard on her hips, making her moan in his lips. Of delight, or annoyance, or both -he couldn't tell exactly.

He pauses, then breaks the kiss, leaving Ms. Kuchiki breathless.

She glares up at him.

He looks down at her.

Behind her, the city night light flickers. It's dark in his room and the air is heavy with her scent.

Looking ahead, he sees the occupant opposite his building floor giving him thumbs up before closing the curtain, his response is a single lift of his middle finger.

Looking down, he sees that she doesn't seem distracted. Instead of kissing him, she decides to do something else. Her fingers slowly reach for his hair, bringing him closer, she lightly nips on his neck, prompting a massive burst of tingling in his spine.

Distracting him with her lips in his neck lightly suckling and nipping, she reaches for his belt once again.

But the therapist stops her hand yet again.

Then he hears her groan angrily.

Instead, he tilts her head and kisses her hard again, grinding his body really hard against her soft and pliant one.

He gets more aggressive this time, he exposes and palms her breasts, her fingers rack his head painfully, pulling on his hair, _hurry, hurry, hurry_.

But then, the therapist suddenly breaks away.

Ms. Kuchiki stands there, tousled and confused. A mess.

Ichigo -still half-naked- folds his arms over his chest and tells her. "You think I volunteered to be your partner _just_ for _fuck's sake_. _Literally_?"

This is exactly where he wants her to be. Confused and denied.

Her reaction to everything is fucking. Constantly denying it to her pushes her to her limits.

Ms. Kuchiki looks at him balefully.

"_You are frustrating_." her first words of the night. "What do you really want?"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

yay. it's my bday.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: down the rabbit hole -not a pun.

Warning: M. OOC. Disturbance.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>-3 months<p>

She tells herself this is nothing more than a dinner.

"_Rukia_,"

This is a dinner between Ms. Kuchiki and her brother.

His presence is like a choke hold around the neck, tight. His commands are like chains tethered to a mechanical puppet, pulling and forcing.

Ms. Kuchiki sits back quietly, in front of her brother, waiting for their meal. This is a posh restaurant. And they have the best reservation -the most concealed one. Just the two of them.

Her brother is wealthy. Downright cliché. Excessively handsome. Banal.

Coming from Heathrow to Haneda, he insisted on seeing her almost immediately. She responds automatically -like the mechanical puppet.

Tonight is one of those nights.

* * *

><p>present.<p>

"You fucked your brother, too?" The therapist asks.

He, with wild orange hair and impressive physique, leans at the glass wall, beside her holding her hands; if she tells him something, he'll fuck her. Ridiculous.

"So?" He tries to reaffirm.

Oddly, when the therapist speaks, he does not sound condescending.

Ms. Kuchiki feels slightly at ease.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

(ツ)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I make no profit.

Theme: down the rabbit hole -not a pun.

Warning: m. ooc. language. disturbance.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>-3 months<p>

Ichigo is not the man who has a flashy Koenigsegg or even 'on-call bitches.'

Grimmjow has. The motherfucking son of the owner of the institution he's working for. The institution where he's working the job that pays everything -all of it- his apartment, his average car, his bills and funds for his girlfriend's dream of opening a patisserie.

His girlfriend is a nurse -psychiatric nurse. She's pretty good at her job because male patients _collectively_ say she's so good, so kind, and so perfect that even Grimmjow wants to fuck her. And he isn't covert over his intentions. Of course, Ichigo felt the need to be protective.

So Ichigo stares him down –man to man- whenever he meets him in the hallway, in the parking lot or even in meetings. They clash often –again, man to man- that resulted to numerous bloody brawls, broken jaws, arms and ER trips.

But his girlfriend still prefers him over the fucking asshole and his blatant display of money and sexual prowess. And that his girlfriend is completely oblivious to his bold advances –or doesn't care, because always, as in every time, her attention is always unto him, listening and caring for him. Grimmjow is just a stupid pest.

_That's good_, Ichigo settles with the idea; he can sleep with the thought knowing she loves –likes deeply, really attracted to- him because he kinda wants to settle down with her, hold her hands forever and grow old with her.

* * *

><p>present.<p>

Ichigo, usually, succeeds in separating work from personal matters.

So far, from his office to his apartment where he brought Ms. Kuchiki, he's succeeding. _He thinks_.

But then he wonders, despite his earlier thoughts, is offering her such a treatment really for her own good and simply the result of his abrasive style or because he broke up with his girlfriend –almost fiance- on the same day and Ms. Kuchiki presents a perfect opportunity to ease his lost?

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

this story's first paragraph.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I make no profit.

Theme: down the rabbit hole -not a pun.

Warning: m. ooc. language. disturbance.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>present.<p>

The minuscule cracks, the small tremors, the breaks in her face –she thinks she can hide all of it.

And her brother, _The Brother_, he thinks he'll meet him soon.

Somehow, before asking her, he already knows the answer.

"_So_?"

She shakes her head, no.

_Yes_.

She's honest –not her words; he could tell he'll deal with loads of bullshit coming from her pretty mouth in the next months. Her eyes tell him otherwise.

But he got what he wanted to know and he's determined to uphold his 'one answer: one fuck' rule.

From his position –sitting beside her leaning against his glass pane- he scoops her up easily and guides her towards the bed parallel to his glass walls.

He lies on his back, and puts her on top of him.

"Okay," he pauses and brings her face closer, whispers softly against her lips.

"You can fuck me now."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I make no profit.

Theme: down the rabbit hole -not a pun.

Warning: m. ooc. language. graphic. disturbance.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>present.<p>

What is a better fuck?

Having Ms. Kuchiki's mouth on his cock is a very, very tempting answer.

Ms. Kuchiki has been very quiet.

_Indeed_.

She wordlessly takes his palms off her face, and then before he knows what's happening, she takes charge of his body –rips his pants off and positions herself over his loins.

"Wha-t?"

She looks at him before holding his cock with both of her small hands and taking it to her mouth –never taking her eyes of him, reminding him of something.

His breath hitches then an involuntary choke escapes him when her pink lips fully enclose his girth.

He sits upward at the motion and a sudden, drawn-out moan comes out of his mouth when she sucks him particularly hard and aggressive but then would become slow as if to let him catch a breath.

"_Shit_," he squirms.

Her finger nails graze his thighs keeping him in place as she suck him.

Strangely, for a petite woman, she can hold him down extraordinarily easy.

She sucks his massive erection so skillfully it is him whose stomach clenches violently in anticipation of a mind-numbing release; it is him who clenches his bed sheet because her mouth –oh fuck, her fucking warm mouth- takes him to another level of high as he feels her wet and warm tongue slither around his cock and suck him firmly alternating between gentleness and roughness.

He grunts uncontrollably in succession –manly, deep and husky- a harsh gurgle at the back of his throat, the sound of a male deep in the middle of heat.

His fingers lock on her hair, as if he'd do anything else, and urges her to swallow him deeper. He begins to thrust his hips upwards to meet her mouth.

Fuck. He thinks it is him who would have her squirming beneath him.

He holds her head roughly as she goes faster and faster and faster until his stomach tightens and he could feel his release coming.

The line between him and her as his patient _may be blurring_ as he reaches his height.

But she suddenly stops and glares at him, his hard cock still in her mouth.

_I haven't fucked you yet_. Ms. Kuchiki seems to tell him.

Fuck, he wants to strangle this little nymph.

"Why did you fucking stop?" he grits out hoarsely, looking at her through his half-lidded eyes. Sweat breaking out all over his naked body and his breathing is taking a fatal turn.

He watches her slides her mouth out of his cock. Licking her lips –Ichigo stares at her hungrily- she orders him, "Take your hands off my hair."

"What?"

She frowns at him_. I'm going to fuck you on my own terms_.

He blinks twice before releasing her head reluctantly.

_Damn_. He understands that look. He remembers her need for control; her fucking _rules_.

Maybe he'll give her _this_ after being so _rudely_ _persuasive and controlling_ with his _psycho-therapeutic_ _method_.

But just this one.

"Fine," he breathes. Another delay and he would fucking beg her; his cock is practically begging her.

He sees something flicker in her eyes when he lets go of her, and before she could return her mouth over his cock, he weaves his fingers on her hair, pulls her roughly and smashes his lips against hers aggressively without a word –he also remembers how she doesn't want him to kiss her.

* * *

><p>to be continued<p>

i'm evil. (✿◠‿◠)


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I make no profit.

Theme: down the rabbit hole -not a pun.

Warning: m. ooc. language. graphic. disturbance.

nymph and satyr

_appleschan_

* * *

><p>present.<p>

Ichigo _can_ kiss like a madman.

She thinks he can surely fuck like a madman too –crazed, hungry and powerful.

Too powerful –too much, too forceful. He has one hand at the back of her head, his finger nails pulling hard on her scalp while he mashes their lips hard, not kissing, not tasting, not exploring, nothing remotely similar, just a pure show of dominance.

She couldn't breathe and his mouth muffles her moans very effectively. And he does not loosen his vice-like hold on her hair. Ms. Kuchiki grates his shoulders instead, dragging her fingernails in his skin as deeply as possible, drawing blood as much as possible and hoping it would somehow deter him. She does not like being kissed.

And when her lips escape his even for a moment to simply breathe, _he's merciless_, he captures her easily and hungrily kisses, no, _devours_, her back harder.

His other hand –she doesn't know where.

She feels sharp tugging on her shoulder and front and before she knew it, he successfully _ripped_ her white buttoned-up shirt completely at the front. _Oh_. Using the same hand, he plays, again, with one of her breasts, kneading and pulling too roughly.

She lets go of his shoulder and focuses on his neck instead, she tries to scratch at his throat viciously, _anything_, just to make him stop kissing her.

It must have been a good idea because the therapist lets go of her lips –she catches her breath- only to grasp both of her wrists _then_ kisses her again –to her dismay.

The therapist shifted position with her; he smothers her on the bed now, presses his cock hard on her thighs, eliciting an unwarranted low _angry_ moan from her. Anger that came from being overcome _too_ easily.

His weight though, is crushing her, but he does nothing to remedy it.

Her hands that he caught, he put them above her.

And when both are safely secured in his grasps, he stops kissing her.

Ms. Kuchiki looks confused. Strange it is, minutes ago, she had him completely putty in her hands –literally.

"I thought I'd let you know." He whispers, his voice is strangely huskier than usual. _That it's only because I'm letting you have some. _

Before Ms. Kuchiki could understand what he's referring to, he flips her roughly -her front hits his mattress. He keeps her face down while his other hand violently tears down what's left of her buttoned-up white shirt; he wrecks it all until the smooth skin of her back is bare to his eyes.

Then he straddles her.

He holds her at the back of her neck with enough force to keep her from raising her head from the mattress but not too painful.

_I'm going to fuck you on my own terms. _He snorts at the idea. Oh please, motherfucker, oh please.

Minutes ago, he _did_ consider the idea but there is something _stimulating_ by the way Ms. Kuchiki –the control nymph bitch- stares at him from that position; rattled, tousled and _beneath him_. This is a power-struggle, after all.

"Ms. Kuchiki," he starts quietly.

He lets go of his tight hold on her neck and lowers his naked body on hers.

Ms. Kuchiki flinches when she feels the therapist's impossibly fit body glides along her back.

There's a sharp intake of breath when his broad chest settles warmly on her back, and his lips found her hairline and neck –giving her warm and light kisses making her arch her back almost automatically, the feeling is surprisingly electrifying.

"How many have you fucked?" He whispers against her cheek, and then buries his head deeper to suck on her neck.

* * *

><p>to be continued<p>

i'm an angel next update.


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